酷兔英语

章节正文
文章总共2页
painter Schinner, and wondered how he could transform himself into



somebody. But a youth of nineteen, kept at home all his life, and

going for two weeks only into the country, what could he be, or do, or



say? However, the Alicante had got into his head, and his vanity was

boiling in his veins; so when the famous Schinner allowed a romantic



adventure to be guessed at in which the danger seemed as great as the

pleasure, he fastened his eyes, sparkling with wrath and envy, upon



that hero.

"Yes," said the count, with a credulous air, "a man must love a woman



well to make such sacrifices."

"What sacrifices?" demanded Mistigris.



"Don't you know, my little friend, that a ceiling painted by so great

a master as yours is worth its weight in gold?" replied the count. "If



the civil list paid you, as it did, thirty thousand francs for each of

those rooms in the Louvre," he continued, addressing Schinner, "a



bourgeois,--as you call us in the studios--ought certainly to pay you

twenty thousand. Whereas, if you go to this chateau as a humble



decorator, you will not get two thousand."

"The money is not the greatest loss," said Mistigris. "The work is



sure to be a masterpiece, but he can't sign it, you know, for fear of

compromising HER."



"Ah! I'd return all my crosses to the sovereigns who gave them to me

for the devotion that youth can win," said the count.



"That's just it!" said Mistigris, "when one's young, one's loved;

plenty of love, plenty of women; but they do say: 'Where there's wife,



there's mope.'"

"What does Madame Schinner say to all this?" pursued the count; "for I



believe you married, out of love, the beautiful Adelaide de Rouville,

the protegee of old Admiral de Kergarouet; who, by the bye, obtained



for you the order for the Louvre ceilings through his nephew, the

Comte de Fontaine."



"A great painter is never married when he travels," said Mistigris.

"So that's the morality of studios, is it?" cried the count, with an



air of great simplicity.

"Is the morality of courts where you got those decorations of yours



any better?" said Schinner, recovering his self-possession, upset for

the moment by finding out how much the count knew of Schinner's life



as an artist.

"I never asked for any of my orders," said the count. "I believe I



have loyally earned them."

"'A fair yield and no flavor,'" said Mistigris.



The count was resolved not to betray himself; he assumed an air of

good-humored interest in the country, and looked up the valley of



Groslay as the coucou took the road to Saint-Brice, leaving that to

Chantilly on the right.



"Is Rome as fine as they say it is?" said Georges, addressing the

great painter.



"Rome is fine only to those who love it; a man must have a passion for

it to enjoy it. As a city, I prefer Venice,--though I just missed



being murdered there."

"Faith, yes!" cried Mistigris; "if it hadn't been for me you'd have



been gobbled up. It was that mischief-making tom-fool, Lord Byron, who

got you into the scrape. Oh! wasn't he raging, that buffoon of an



Englishman?"

"Hush!" said Schinner. "I don't want my affair with Lord Byron talked



about."

"But you must own, all the same, that you were glad enough I knew how



to box," said Mistigris.

From time to time, Pierrotin exchanged sly glances with the count,



which might have made less inexperienced persons than the five other

travellers uneasy.



"Lords, pachas, and thirty-thousand-franc ceilings!" he cried. "I seem

to be driving sovereigns. What pourboires I'll get!"



"And all the places paid for!" said Mistigris, slyly.

"It is a lucky day for me," continued Pierrotin; "for you know, Pere



Leger, about my beautiful new coach on which I have paid an advance of

two thousand francs? Well, those dogs of carriage-builders, to whom I



have to pay two thousand five hundred francs more, won't take fifteen

hundred down, and my note for a thousand for two months! Those



vultures want it all. Who ever heard of being so stiff with a man in

business these eight years, and the father of a family?--making me run



the risk of losing everything, carriage and money too, if I can't find

before to-morrow night that miserable last thousand! Hue, Bichette!



They won't play that trick on the great coach offices, I'll warrant

you."



"Yes, that's it," said the rapin; "'your money or your strife.'"




文章总共2页
文章标签:翻译  译文  翻译文  

章节正文